


I'll be home for Christmas

by LadyMaeve1978



Series: Johnlock for the Holidays [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: First Kiss, M/M, One Shot Collection, non-canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-06
Updated: 2020-12-06
Packaged: 2021-03-10 05:26:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,109
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27918934
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyMaeve1978/pseuds/LadyMaeve1978
Summary: My second attempt at Johnlock stories inspired by Christmas songs. Non-Canon.
Relationships: Sherlock Holmes/John Watson
Series: Johnlock for the Holidays [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2043025
Kudos: 10





	I'll be home for Christmas

_I'll be home for Christmas  
You can plan on me  
Please have snow and mistletoe  
And presents on the tree_

_Christmas Eve will find me  
Where the love light gleams  
I'll be home for Christmas  
If only in my dreams_

Sherlock had long since lost track of what village he was staked out in. Night after night, following Moriarty’s network of crime, had dulled him to those details. What did it matter, really? The end goal was the same, whether he knew the names of the forgotten villages or not – destroy Moriarty’s network so he can keep his family…his loved ones safe. It didn’t matter what happened to him – it was just a transport, after all.

He sat in the burned out remains of a home, the only available light coming from the end of his cigarette each time he took a drag. He arrived shortly after sunset, based on the information Mycroft’s informant had provided him several days ago back in Prague. There was to be a meeting of several of Moriarty’s lieutenants in the abandoned village. If he was successful in obtaining the information from this meeting, it would mean the end of Moriarty’s network in this part of the world.

As soon as he heard the trucks coming up the road, he quickly snuffed out the cigarette and crouched back down into the shadows. They stopped in the middle of the square and men started jumping off the back, armed with rifles. They began going from house to house, peering through the broken windows. Sherlock cursed and made his way out a back window he had noted earlier in the day.

He picked his way carefully along the landscape, staying to the shadows. Luckily for him, the armed men only did a cursory check of the buildings before they met back up in the square. Music began to play in the cold winter night from someone’s phone. Although Sherlock couldn’t quite make out the words, the melody of the song sounded vaguely familiar. Something John probably made him listen to at one point, Sherlock thought with a pang of homesickness.

The men called out to each other and laughed over the sound of another approaching truck. The truck continued passed the square and to the one mostly intact house at the end of the square. Sherlock crouched down behind a tree just beyond the village and put his earpiece in so he could listen in on the meeting.

Over the course of the next hour, he was able to obtain the next three months of shipments as well as other names in the network. Sherlock grinned – this will make Mycroft’s year. To his surprise, they ended the meeting by wishing one another Merry Christmas. Sherlock knew that it was December, but he hadn’t realized that it was Christmas already. 

He stayed crouched behind the tree while the men returned to the trucks and began to pull out of the village. As the lights of the last truck vanished down the road, Sherlock let out a sigh of relief and stood up, stretching after being in such a tight position for so long.

He made his way back to the burned out house he had been hidden in earlier and set up to rest until dawn. It wouldn’t do any good if he obtained this information, only to break his neck making his way in the dark through an unknown forest. He may be a madman, but he wasn’t a fool.

Sherlock laid back on the floor, fingers laced behind his head and stared up at the starry sky through the broken window. Christmas – when the world lost its mind every year – even John, as amazing as he was, fell under its spell. He thought back on his last Christmas home…..

_“Sherlock! I’m pretty sure that the poem talked about stockings being hung with care….not severed fingers!” John said exasperated, pointing at the mantle. He was dressed in a festive red and green jumper, with a pair of reindeer antlers on his head. He bent over to pick up the scattered folders Sherlock left on the floor from the last case, giving him a view of John’s denim clad backside and Sherlock felt….something….in the pit of his stomach. He ignored it - hunger pains, most likely. How dull._

_“It’s for an experiment! If your friends can’t handle it, they can leave!” Sherlock exclaimed from his sprawled position on the sofa._

_“They’re OUR friends, you git! I know you don’t care for Christmas, but can you at least put them away for a few hours while everyone is here?” John sighed. Sherlock listened as John went out into the kitchen and began pulling food out to set up on the table._

_Sherlock rolled his eyes and kept typing on his phone. Maybe Lestrade can find him a case on Christmas Eve so he didn’t have to deal with all of…this….sentiment._

_“Sherlock? Sherlock!”_

_Sherlock kept his eyes on his phone. No text as of yet – maybe he’ll do an update to his blog. A sixth sense noted that the flat had gotten quiet around him and that John hovered right above him. Sherlock looked up and started as John’s face was mere inches from his own. Sherlock was able to note the gleam in John’s eye before he swooped in and his lips met Sherlock’s. He dimly registered the feel of warm, slightly dry lips against his own before a shock of electricity ran through his body and blew through his Mind Palace._

_The lips pulled away and Sherlock opened his eyes._

_“Do I have your attention now?” John asked softly, his cheeks stained pink and eyes dilated._

_Sherlock swallowed then nodded, speechless._

_“Good. Good. Now, put them away, please.” John whispered. Both of them started at the sound of the front door slamming open and the muted sounds of ‘Merry Christmas Mrs. Hudson!’ made its way up the stairs. John drew back and Sherlock leapt off the of the sofa, desperate for distance so he could think. He grabbed the string of severed fingers on his way back to his bedroom._

He had stayed in his bedroom the rest of the night, organizing and rebuilding his Mind Palace. He missed the Christmas get together entirely. John let him be and they never spoke about that night…that kiss. If he had known that was his last chance, would he have been able to reach out and take it?

Sherlock opened his eyes at looked up at the stars as they began to vanish from the night sky as dawn approached.

“Merry Christmas, John.”


End file.
